


The Author

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: There is a number of small things [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book Signings, But It's better if you queue, Dear Draco don't die, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Fluff, Gaming? What's gaming?, HP: EWE, How Do I Tag, I wrote this a long ass time ago, Multi, No Scorpius, Oops, Persistence, Random Muggles - Freeform, Smoking, Tags Are Hard, The Author - Freeform, Theo is the author, Those poor boots, amirite?, coffee and cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy does not wander into Muggle book shops without a very good reason. He thinks this is a good one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Author

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/gifts).



> Original A/N attached to this piece on Tumblr:
> 
> A/N: A completely one-off and mildly late birthday gift for my lovely friend and muse in all things. Obviously this is a future without Scorpius and somewhat inspired by the old Persistence verse. EWE, amiright? ;) Happy Birthday, love, sorry it’s not smut? xD
> 
> This is from December of 2014 and I can't believe I never posted it into this series cause it's so cute!
> 
> For Unkissed, always.

**Somewhere in London…**

 

You’re rushing down the street with your back against the wind, the collar of your coat turned up as if it might protect you from the sleet that seemed hell bent on drenching every inch of you. It’s barely dusk although the muted greys hovering above make it impossible to tell day from night. Normally you would not venture out in such weather, at least not without the proper protection spells.

 

But this is not a normal occasion.

 

Shoppe lights twinkle beyond fogged out windows that pass you by one by one and you pay them little mind. You have already resigned yourself to the fact that your Edward green boots are going to meet their most unfortunate end this evening, and although the loss hurts, staying in would have hurt more than the death of everything in your closet.

  
And that’s saying something.

 

The book shoppe is unassuming upon first glance and as you step off the curb you are careful to steer clear of a murky puddle before cutting across the street between the handful of muggle automobiles that are braving the weather like you are. When you tug open the door to the store a small bell tinkles overhead and you are reminded of some of the smaller storefronts scattered throughout Diagon Alley. Immediately you shrug out of your coat and leave it to drip-dry on a conveniently placed coat rack by the door and you are mildly impressed with how dry your clothing beneath is. A faint sigh parts your lips as you reach up to card fingers through the sopping wet fringe formerly known as your flawless coif that now sits atop your head. Of course you could have avoided this with a quick wave of your wand, and although you were fairly certain that you could get away with it, even in the middle of a muggle bookshop, you dismissed the idea and let your locks lay where they lie instead.

 

When you step further into the place you eye a rather large queue that is winding around several book stacks and you raise a brow and suppress a faint smirk.   “If you’re here to meet the author, you’ll need to join the back of the queue, here.” A young woman has stopped beside you and was now gesturing to the end of the obnoxiously long line, her slightly condescending smile not going unnoticed. “Thank you.” You reply with a nod before moving to join the queue in question, snatching up a glossy hardcover and tucking it beneath your arm.  

 

The line is _long_ and torturously slow-moving and you find yourself with quite a lot of time on your hands, which you use to silently judge the other people in line with you. It seems like a fairly young crowd of varying degrees of social stature, judging by appearances alone, of course. Ultimately none of this really concerns you, you know the author _intimately_ , and have already had the pleasure of reading a very early pressing of the novel before it was released to the public. This signing was just one of many on an annoyingly long book tour, but you had made a point to pop into every single one of them, and you weren’t about to stop now.

 

The couple in front of you have been inconspicuously eyeing you for the last ten minutes, eight of which you have been aware of. You know they are couple by the way they seem to communicate without words, something you are rather familiar with yourself. Of course, if one was judging by the un-tucked plaid button downs they were both wearing, and the female’s obnoxious beanie alone, they simply had to be a couple. Who else could possibly tolerate such clothing if not the one who loves you? When you catch her looking at you again you arch a single brow at her expectantly and she smiles and immediately blushes.

 

“Sorry, but, didn’t we see you at the signing last Wednesday in Picadilly?” She tilts her head as she speaks and her male companion turns just enough that the three of you form a sort of half-circle as they await your response. You are not quite sure why this pair seems so bloody interested, although you can hardly blame them for taking notice _and_ remembering.

 

You know how unforgettable you are, thank you.

 

“It’s a possibility.” You reply with a mildly amused smirk because you are unable to resist and when they exchange a _look_ , you merely shift your brow.

 

“I thought so.” She nods slowly before continuing, “You must really like the author, huh?” She grins at you in a way that you are sure is meant to be playful and you chuckle softly under your breath and do not point out that you could say the same of them. “Something like that, yes.” You say and when she nods slowly like she ‘gets it,’ you want to laugh again but refrain.

 

“My name is Emma by the way, and this is Charlie.” When she introduces herself and her companion to you, you are momentarily taken aback because sometimes it is easy to forget that muggles don’t have a pre-determined opinion of you.

 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You reply, nodding to them both in turn.

 

This simple introduction sparks a conversation that helps pass the time of the slow moving queue, both of which you are inwardly thankful for, because even though the war had ended several years ago, the repercussions still followed you on a daily basis.

 

Over the course of the next half hour you learn that Emma and Charlie are twenty-three year old newlyweds. Their shared love of reading is what brought them together. Their story is sweet in a mildly cute sort of way, if you like that type of thing. (Which you secretly do) They seem to talk a lot about something called ‘gaming,’ although you have no idea what it means and so you simply smile and nod your head at seemingly appropriately spaced intervals. They are a fairly tolerable pair and you find yourself answering a _lot_ more of their questions than you normally would.

 

When Emma asks you about your favorite authors you tick off a small list and you even exchange suggestions with her for future reading.   When Charlie inquires about the uniqueness of your name you are honest when you tell him that your mother’s family had an affinity for naming their children after constellations and assure him that you were _definitely_ one of the lucky ones. Your small group was nearly around the last book stack when Emma turned to you with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She glanced over her shoulder for a moment before turning back to face you again, a smile curving her mouth upwards. “So, why are you _really_ here, Draco? You don’t strike me as the type to need two autographed copies of a first novel.” She quirked a brow at you and was still smiling and when you glanced up you caught a glimpse of the front of the queue and you smiled too.

 

“You’re right, I don’t _need_ two copies, but I have an entire collection. “ You’re still watching the front of the line that keeps coming in and out of view between the shoulders and heads of the people still in front of you and you hardly hear her when she speaks up again.

 

“You don’t like the author, you _know_ him!” She sounds very pleased with her revelation and when she looks back over her shoulder again the crowd parts just enough that you catch sight of the author himself, for the briefest of moments.

 

“All my life.” You add faintly and when the crowd swallows your view up once again you turn your attention back to Emma, who is looking at your much differently than she had been moments before.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re…?” Her eyes go wide as she trails off and quickly flips open the book in her hands, thumbing page after page in quick succession.

 

It is right at this moment that you reach the front of the queue and Emma and Charlie step up to present their copies for autographing. You watch curiously as she leans over the table to speak quietly to the author and when they both glance up at you, your lips curl at the corners with a faint smirk. Emma turns her attention back to him and says something that you cannot hear and when he merely grins coyly and shrugs a shoulder she nearly squeals in delight as she scoops up her book and steps aside.  

 

“I knew it!” She hisses in your ear as you step up to the table, and when you only smile back at her, she shakes her head softly and leaves with Charlie.

 

“Whom shall I make this out to?” You smile at the voice in your ear and turn your attention back to him, and although there are no words immediately spoken, the understanding is undeniable.

 

                                                            ~@~

 

It is sometime later when you find yourself leaning against the outside of the bookstore, a half-smoked cigarette wedged between your lips. The rain has let up and the street has begun to dry out, along with your ruined boots and coat.

 

“Started without me?” He says, suddenly beside you, and you cannot help but smile because this was his filthy habit to begin with.

 

“Just warming up.” You say with a wink as you lightly pluck the cigarette from your mouth and transfer it to his.

 

“Hmm, good thing. Let’s walk.” He presses himself up against your front when he speaks and the soft puffs of breath that smell faintly of nicotine warm the tip of your nose and you shiver imperceptibly.

 

The night is cool still, but you don’t even notice when he’s beside you. When he flicks the spent cigarette butt away his arm slides through yours and you walk arm in arm down the deserted streets towards his flat. Tomorrow he has a book signing in Cardiff, and then it is Brighton and Oxford. After that he will be heading overseas, and although he repeatedly tells you that you needn’t follow him all the way across the pond, you know that he secretly loves it as much as you do.

 

After the dust had settled from the war it had seemed like a natural reaction to run, and you had. At first you were aimless, you only wanted anonymity and someplace to decompress where nobody knew your name. Of course your parents had expected you to return home after a short sabbatical and take your place at the head of the family, but whether you couldn’t or _wouldn’t,_ was impossible to say.

 

It had been fate that had brought him to you, even though you had always imagined that it would be you who found him. He was tired of running and maybe you had been too, even if he stuck around to indulge you. You have spent a lot of time trying to right your wrongs and mend all of the things you have broken. When he looks at you, _really_ looks at you, you feel like you can do anything in the world, and when he tells you that he loves you, you feel it so completely within your soul that it hurts. You know that you can never change the past, but the future belongs to you; to him and you both.

 

“Where’d you go?” His fingers pressed against your clothed arm shake you from your thoughts and you smile faintly at him and come to a stop in the middle of the street.

 

“I want to come with you.” He looks at you for a long moment before responding, the cerulean blue of his eyes piercing you as he searches your eyes for answers and meaning. When his brow creases you hold your breath because you know that look, but when he speaks he silences all of your apprehensions and you can breath again.

“Okay.” He says quietly as his arms slide around your neck. You feel the warmth from his body seeping through your clothing and although you would like nothing more than to apparate you both back to his bedroom immediately, you do not. Your arms move around him and bring him closer, and when his lips hover just out of reach and he looks up at you from beneath lowered lashes you feel like you could die right in the middle of the street.

 

“Okay.” You repeat with the softest smile and then he kisses you and mutes out your entire world and you don’t even mind.


End file.
